Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
by 1bitHeart
Summary: ...How I wonder what you are. Ignorance is bliss, but knowledge is power. Luckily, Fuuta's got tons of both. But which was better: happiness, or survival? He wasn't sure if he knew, but the future didn't wait for anyone. Someday, he'd have to choose. (It was written in the stars.) SI/OC. OC!Fuuta.
1. the end of the world

**Warnings:** _In future chapters: graphic descriptions of violence, skewed morals, language, criminal life...you get the gist. Gen for now. If there's going to be any romance it will take a long,_ long _time._

* * *

Once upon a time, the world ended.

The sky shattered. The earth wailed. The sun warped and shifted and caved in on itself. The ocean screamed. The forests shriveled up. The moon melted. The canyons tore themselves apart. And even when only the stars remained— they, too, burst into thousands upon thousands of shards, strangely reminiscent of fireworks. Only, instead of fading away like sparks in the wind, the shards reached the world and everything was _burningburningburning_.

And one boy stood in the middle of it all.

Dead.

He was dead on his feet, dead like people around him, dead like the sky and the earth and the sun and the ocean and the forests and the moon and the canyons and the stars. Dead like the world.

And he—

giggled.

.🌟.

Once upon the time, the world ended.

But at least he got the last laugh.

* * *

He wakes up.

.🌟.

Why?

He was supposed to be dead.

Why?

How can he breathe when there is only smoke left?

Why?

How can he see when everything is either black or red?

Why?

How can he cry if all that is left is fire?

Why?

Why is he awake?

(Why is he alive?)

.🌟.

This isn't funny anymore.

(He falls back asleep.)

.🌟.

It is the stars that had died last, and so, it is the stars that would live first. They wait and wait and then they don't have to wait any longer. The canyons sigh quietly and the stars watch over them. The moon is whole and the stars chatter with excitement. The forests flourish and flower and the stars bloom along with them. The ocean sings its lullaby and the stars hum along. The sun peeks over the horizon and the stars dance with merriment. The earth remains sturdy and the stars whisper with relief. The sky remains unshattered and the stars shine with joy. The stars are alive, alive, alive, and no longer alone. The world learns to breathe again.

The boy wakes up to the twinkling lights above him and cannot believe his eyes. There is no smoke, no ashes, no embers. There is no fire. No flames. The air is crisp and clean. The sky is not falling. The stars hang in the sky. He must be dreaming. Dead boys don't dream. Why isn't he dead?

It is the boy that had slept last, and so, it is the boy that would wake up first.

He blinks, and the world is still there. He holds his breath, and the world still inhales and exhales.

He cries.

The world is beginning.

.🌟.

The stars ask him, _what is your name?_

He replies, " _The boy_."

 _silly_ , they chide. _that isn't a name._

 _"But it is, because I'm the only boy left. So I'm the boy."_

 _but you aren't the only boy anymore._

 _…_

 _what is your name?_

He does not know.

 _then make a new one!_

What is his name? He isn't "the boy" anymore. He's only "a boy". But there are other boys now. He needs a name. What is his name?

What does he want? Parents name their children strength in hopes that they become strong. Parents name their children beauty to let them grow up beautiful. What does he want? Not beauty. Not strength. Those are insignificant compared to survival. He wants to live. He wants to see another day. He wants to see the future.

He wants the future.

"My name is _Fuuta_."

 _future_.

The stars shine.

 _that's a beautiful name._

.🌟.

 _may the future shine ever brightly._

* * *

And in his euphoria, he does not notice that something is _off_ about this new world. He does not notice the way that the flames have not disappeared, just hidden. He does not notice the way the stars curl around him protectively, help him see things that only they can see.

He does not notice, and so, even if it's just for a little longer— he remains blissfully ignorant.

* * *

 **It's a Fuuta SI fic...haha...ha...**

 **...I don't even have an excuse. I know I shouldn't be posting new stuff when I have Sweet Dreams and WSF, but, well...**

 **I _am_ working on WSF, though. And I'll be making a separate story for the omakes, AU's, and side stories that don't make it into the rewrite. It'll be called _The Akashic Record_ , and will probably be posted once I start putting up the rewrite. Be on the lookout! ****The linebreaks with the stars will be used in WSF, too! This story, although I say SIOC, it's more like an OC insert. But that doesn't really matter, does it? It's basically reincarnation.**

 **This OC!Fuuta has _no knowledge of canon_. I repeat: NO KNOWLEDGE OF CANON. **

**His goal is to survive, and he'll do whatever it takes to do so.**

 **This fic will be my experiment with flowery wording and purple prose and abstract nonsense and...basically my writing in general. Although not _too_ much. Anyway, I hope you'll look forward to it!**

 **See you!**


	2. the start of a life

**Warnings:** _Some imagery. Not too descriptive, though._

* * *

As all things do, the euphoria fades away into something quieter. It doesn't vanish completely, remaining as a humming feeling of contentment under his skin instead.

Fuuta wants to stay like this just a little longer, but he knows he needs to do something productive. It's nighttime, and he doesn't know where he is, and when he looks down at himself he realizes he's wearing the same charred rags as he had when he died.

And then he sees his hands.

Small. _Too_ small. Tiny and soft and pale, so unlike the rough and blistered and cracked hands that used to belong to him. He rubs his thin arms and shivers at the foreign feeling of soft skin. His whole body is probably like this— new and young and untainted. It's fine, though— he likes having a smaller, softer body better than a bigger, burnt one.

 _hurry, you'll catch a cold_ , the stars chide.

Fuuta grins sheepishly and giggles. " _But where do I go?"_

They wink in the sky like fireflies, unable to come to an agreement amongst themselves. One of them suggests, _follow me!_

Fuuta does, because the stars have no reason to trick him. They had suffered together and died together and now that they're alive again, they have to stay side by side in this new and possibly dangerous world.

He stumbles the first few steps. For the next while, he gets used to the smaller and clumsier strides of his new body. Fuuta walks and walks and falls down and skins his knees and walks again. He walks until his feet get sore and his legs are covered in bramble scratches, but it's worth it. He can see dim lights just over the faded dirt path he stumbled onto. Reaching the top is tiring— his new legs have less muscle mass then his previous ones.

Fuuta trembles and continues walking.

.🌟.

The view from the top of the hill takes his breath away.

Fuuta is on a mountain. Unsurprising, since mountains are as close to the stars you can get without technology. He can see the clouds blotting out the stars in the sky and the mist hanging in the canyons below. The landscape is filled with forests and shrubbery, save for the beaten dirt trail he's standing on and the destination it leads to: a small, homely village. Fuuta can count the amount of buildings in the area— eight, he thinks a bit faintly. Could this even be called a village? A community, maybe. He wonders if they're friendly, and if anyone's even awake. He's not sure what time it is.

 _go on_ , the stars eagerly cheer. _you're small and hurt. they'll help you right away!_

They have a point. Fuuta huffs but doesn't move. His new body has a lot less pain tolerance than he was used to. He guesses he'll have to build it back up at some point.

 _aw, don't be a baby! you survived the end of your world, what's a few scratches_?

 _"_ _Well, I'm a kid now, so I can be a baby as much as I want."_

 _fuutaaaaa!_

"Oh, goodness me!"

Fuuta sluggishly whips around, caught off guard. A young woman clutches a basket full of herbs to her chest, concern rising as she looks him over. For a moment, all he can see is a charred corpse, still covered with embers, the smell of smoke hanging in the air. It was choking him strangling him _killing_ him _oh god not another one_ _don'tleavehimalonePLEASE_ — but the image disappears with a panicked blink.

It's a human.

A _living_ , _breathing_ human.

It's been so, _so_ long since he's seen anything other than himself breathe.

Fuuta feels himself tear up. The woman drops her basket and hurries over to him, cooing and brushing the dust and dirt off of his sorry excuse of an outfit. He tries not to let his tears fall (he had to save anything he could get his hands on, and wasting water by _crying_ was what had gotten mommy killed) and then he sees his pale, soft, moisturized hands. He's not back there anymore. This world isn't burning, isn't cracking and splitting under the _unbearableburninghothothot_ flames.

"What's wrong, sweetheart? What happened to you? My, look at your clothes! Was there a fire nearby? How long have you been out like this? We'll get you somewhere nice and safe, okay? Shh, it'll be fine! It's alright now," the lady rambles. He listens with a sense of bewildered fascination. The sound of another human's voice is soothing to his ears. Tentatively, the woman reaches out and smooths his face out with her surprisingly rough hands. They're a worker's hands, skin toughened by some sort of labor. Fuuta shudders at the warm touch and is abruptly reminded of how much he's missed human contact. He leans into the hand, memorizing the feeling of a live, unbloodied person's skin on his cheek.

For the second time since the Fire, Fuuta cries.

"It's alright now," she repeats a bit more firmly, and Fuuta believes her.

.🌟.

 _it's okay to cry._

* * *

 **SCHOOL'S OUT! YAY! I'M FREE! ...For a week, because I have summer school OTL. This chapter has a lot less flowery stuff but I wrote it in one go today so yeah. I'll go back and edit out any mistakes tomorrow, I just wanted to get this up as an "I'm ALIVE!" thing.**

 **Thanks for reading! Leave a review, maybe?**


	3. the beginning of recovery

**Warnings:** _Death mention._

* * *

Fuuta wakes up.

It's a slow, quiet thing. Gradually, he comes into awareness. His lips are cracked and painfully dry. The scratches all over his feet and legs itch as they scab over. He's lying on something soft, and he's warm, but it's a comfortable type of warm. Not the warmth that comes from fire.

He's kind of surprised he woke up at all.

Blearily, Fuuta opens his eyes. The wall he's facing is made out of wood. The dry, burnable kind, the type that would belong to a log cabin in the mountains. It would've been one of the first ones to be reduced to ash.

…So it wasn't a dream, huh.

Slowly, Fuuta sits up. The soft, white sheets over him slip off his torso, and Fuuta takes the time to admire their fluffy texture. Something like this, he muses, would have been turned brittle and dry due to the constant exposure to heat, if it somehow survived being set on fire in the first place.

Shaking himself out of his trance, Fuuta sets about to looking around and scavenging. The room he's in has plenty of useful things. The blankets over him could provide warmth and protection from the sun. That potted plant could be planted outside, and the pot itself can serve as a box to store things in— or a weapon, if necessary. (Back when there had been people other than Fuuta, everyone was desperate and willing to do anything to survive, and Fuuta was no exception. He wasn't the last one because of _luck_ , you know.) There's a small drawer next to the bed he's on, and a glass of water on top of it. If Fuuta drinks the water or saves it elsewhere, the glass cup can be saved or shattered and used as a weapon as well—

A woman comes in.

In a flash, Fuuta's pressing his back against the wall, eyes wide and startled. Belatedly, he realizes he's clutching the blanket to himself like a child that's just woken up from a nightmare.

He _is_ a child that's just woken up from a nightmare.

Fuuta recognizes the woman. From…before he collapsed. He should thank her. He opens his mouth and closes it after wincing. Fuuta's throat is really, _really_ dry. Also, his mouth has a funny taste. Pushing aside the uncomfortable sensations with practiced ease, Fuuta retries and ends up asking cautiously, "Who…are you?"

Wow. So much for being polite.

The woman smiles. It's pretty, and makes her eyes twinkle, and suddenly she looks so very _alive_. Fuuta can't help but stare.

"How are you feeling?" She walks over carefully, form open and inviting. It's not unlike how one would approach a frightened animal. Fuuta finds himself relaxing, and he hides an embarrassed frown.

"'M…okay."

He isn't burnt anywhere, his skin is soft and clean and new, and he's comfortable. It's more than he usually asks for.

Still, the woman frowns, disapproving.

"You shouldn't lie," she scolds him, worried. (Why? They're strangers.) "I saw the scratches on your legs, you know! You need to be more careful."

Fuuta ducks his head, feeling oddly sheepish. "Sorry."

"Here you go."

He looks up, and the woman is holding out the water to him. Tentatively, he takes it and sips, the cool liquid soothing his throat. He tilts the cup back down after a second, wanting to save the water for later, but then the woman clicks her tongue and chastises him again.

"You should drink more. There's plenty of water to go around, so don't hold back."

Fuuta blinks.

Right. Not back there anymore.

Carefully, he gulps the rest of the water down, not wanting to waste a drop. It's sweet and refreshing. Is this the taste of mountain water? He's forgotten.

Once the cup is empty, the woman takes it away with gentle hands. Fuuta lets her, dropping his hands onto his lap, suddenly unsure of what to do. The woman seems to notice this, and she smiles kindly at him. "I'm going to put this away, okay?"

Fuuta nods, watching her close the door with a quiet click. He hears footsteps pattering down what seems to be a flight of stars, and after he's sure that she's gone, he exhales. The quiet is unsettling. He's alone.

He's _alone_.

Realization strikes him like a bolt of lightning. _Where? Where are they?_ Fuuta's breathing starts coming out is silent gasps. He searches frantically, squeezing his eyes shut, but no matter how hard he strains they _aren't there_. Fuuta curls up into a ball, nails digging into the sheets beneath him. This isn't right, isn't _right_ — he's not supposed to be alone!

He tries to scream, but his voice comes out cracked and small. " _Where?!_ "

 _—_ _ere! fuuta, fuuta, fuuta, can't you hear us? listen, please!_

Fuuta's eyes snap open. It's barely there, a whisper in the wind, but he can hear them loud and clear.

 _shh, it's okay. we're right here, fuuta._

Slowly, his hands unclench. He's shaking like a leaf. Relief hits him like a tidal wave, and he sobs, a shuddering, pitiful thing.

 _sorry. we're sorry, fuuta. we'll always be here._

 _"_ _Always?"_

 _always. always._

Always.

Fuuta's eyes droop. He feels empty, tired. Crying is exhausting, and Fuuta decides that not only is it a waste of water, it's a waste of time, too. He'll try not to do it again. Crawling back under the blankets, he closes his eyes, shutting out the world around him. Stars burn brightly behind his eyelids, comforting whispers echoing throughout his head, and Fuuta shakes even as he falls asleep.

.🌟.

 _we can't keep this up forever._

 _are we saying we should leave him alone? we can't do that! he's important, precious, you can't, we can't!_

 _we never said we were leaving him. but always is a lie. if it rains again…if the skies are gray, if we lose our connection, what'll happen to him?_

 _…_ _that's…_

 _…_ _we won't always be there for him. and_ _…_ _he won't always be there for us._

.🌟.

 _…f_ _orever is only a dream, you know._

* * *

 **Aaa this story's a bit slow-paced, but I want to reveal Fuuta's problems as they crop up. Today we're starring: separation anxiety! Yay!**

 **Leave your thoughts in a review, and/or point out any mistakes! I'll come back to edit them if I find any!**

 **Also, new cover photo by yours truly!**

 **Thanks for reading!**


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